


The Firebirds of Calneh

by lavvyan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sgareversebang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavvyan/pseuds/lavvyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The secret of the ZPMs is revealed! Alas, it turns out that some time over the past few years, Rodney McKay has developed a conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Firebirds of Calneh

** A Dr. Rodney McKay Adventure **

**One: Rodney McKay Finds a Match**

Rodney's morning routine went something like this: fumble for the snooze button before the annoying beep of the alarm drove him to murder or insanity or both; bemoan the fact that John never slept over and thus kept Rodney from strangling him for ever sitting down in that goddamn Chair and forcing Rodney into a life of adventure and early rising; bemoan the fact that John was an utter commitment-phobe and never slept over; give in to the call – more of a dissonant squawk, really – of wakefulness and make his way into and out of the bathroom, where he'd invariably stub his toe on one of the weird protrusions from the walls and floor; stumble to the mess hall for coffee, coffee, coffee and breakfast with whatever member of his team he found; see whatever mentions of 'Potentia' his very specialised search engine had coaxed out of the Ancient database overnight.

Rodney was not a fan of getting up before noon. But if he absolutely had to – and he'd been told on various occasions that, yes, he had to – he might as well start the day with the hope of finally discovering how the Ancients had built their ZPMs. Like his stubbed toe, his hopes were invariably crushed each and every morning, so the exercise served more as a lesson on the inevitable doom of optimism than anything else. Since Rodney himself was an avowed pessimist, that suited him just fine.

On that particular morning, Rodney spent his breakfast alone. Teyla and Kanaan had left earlier that week to visit Kanaan's second cousin's mother-in-law's tailor or something to get Torren a special set of clothes of some significance or other; Rodney couldn't remember. Ronon and John were off to participate in yet another warrior bonding ritual that would get Atlantis nothing but tava beans and a black-eyed military commander and meant that Rodney didn't even get the sex and what little cuddling went with John's commitment-phobia.

He scowled into his coffee mug and pulled up the search results.

The one good thing about the whole debacle with the Brotherhood of Fifteen was that it had given them a clue about how to set up their search terms, since 'power source' spat out everything from solar energy to nanite power cells, and 'zero point energy' brought up exactly nothing. 'Potentia,' however, always led to something, even if it had yet to lead to something _useful._ But hope sprang eternal, or so Rodney had been told, and he actually felt a bit of masochistic glee as he checked out last night's results.

Predictably, all thirteen new hits were council meeting minutiae. He rolled his eyes and started to read. Amaterith gave a brief maintenance report. Zeeu proposed switching Atlantis to an alternate energy source; the motion was denied. Janus requested a Potentia for his studies on parallel time lines; this motion was also denied. Amaterith gave another maintenance report. Simorg believed that the supply of Potentiae on Fenghuang was stable for the foreseeable future.

Rodney stared at the last entry. The sentence didn't change. Heart pounding, he typed 'Fenghuang' into his search engine and hit the go! button.

And nearly fell off his chair when the first result brought up the seven symbols of a Gate address, blinking cheerfully on his screen.

~~~

 **Two: Not Quite a Rabbit Hole**

Convincing Woolsey that the lead was important enough to be followed before Rodney's team were back from their respective get-aways was easy, and two hours later Rodney walked through the Gate with Lt. Stackhouse and three female marines.

Rodney never knew what to make of female marines. Cadman had been a tap-dancing maniac. Mehra regularly traded the coffee pouches from her MREs for the bubblegum Madison insisted was a vital part of her mother's care packages to Uncle Mer. Shriwastav and Tiwani had organised the informal Atlantis Oktoberfest for two years running. They all seemed to take great pleasure in sending him into fits of near-incoherent spluttering when they weren't protecting him, and sometimes even then, and that reminded him so eerily of his mother that he just wished they'd all go away and stop giving him flashbacks.

Anyway. Fenghuang looked like almost every other planet Rodney had ever visited, with an open forest of vaguely familiar trees surrounding the Gate in every direction. Stackhouse's team fanned out and Rodney pulled out his scanner. He located a single energy source, not nearly large enough to be a ZPM but still better than nothing, and they headed towards it. The walk took about half an hour, with birds twittering and a multitude of insects buzzing around Rodney's head.

"I hate camping," he muttered. Stackhouse looked at him like he was crazy.

The energy source was hidden inside a low rock formation that was little more than a few standing stones leaning together to leave a narrow space inside. Rodney blew out his breath at the sight of the single, tiny opening, handed his backpack, vest and jacket to Stackhouse, stuffed the scanner into a back pocket of his BDUs, and crawled through the opening. One of the female marines let out a whistle, and he felt himself flush. His skin tingled strangely as his bare arms brushed against stone, but he didn't realise that something was wrong until he turned inside the formation to call for Stackhouse to hand him his backpack and had to squint against the light from outside, which seemed far too bright all of a sudden.

"Lieutenant?" he shouted. "Is everything all right out there?" Nobody answered. Even the birds were silent. Rodney suddenly wished he'd brought a radio. "Lieutenant?"

Nothing. Rodney sat back, rubbing his fingers nervously as he considered his options. Wait for someone – or something – to come for him, or crawl back outside.

"Lieutenant?" He wasn't expecting an answer, and none came. Rodney took a deep breath, wondered why these things always happened to him, and crawled back outside. And blinked against the harsh light, mouth dropping open.

The forest had disappeared. In its place, yellow grass covered low hills that met the horizon in gentle curves. Here and there, blue trees stood in small clusters, stretching their leafless branches toward the sky with orange blobs clinging to the thorny bark. Strange plants held out their chalice-like protrusions like cupped palms waiting for rain, and the air was so dry it seemed to suck the moisture right out of Rodney's body. The Gate was gone.

"Oh no," he said, staring at the alien landscape before him, and of course that was when something swooped out of the sky and burped a fireball at him.

~~~

 **Three: New Acquaintances are Made**

Rodney threw himself to the side without really thinking about it, heat brushing the back of his neck as the fireball scorched past him to burst against the side of a standing stone. Something crunched beneath him and, as Rodney looked down, he saw that what he had thought of as grass were really crystal formations, breaking and crumbling under his weight. A sharp, sweet smell rose from the brittle pieces, like rotting mint, and then wings rustled above him and Rodney threw his arms over his head in a futile attempt to ward off certain fiery death. Something bellowed off to the side, followed by a weird rushing sound and an enraged eagle-screech, and then someone said, not too kindly, "Go back where you came from, Lantean!"

Rodney gave the only response he could think of. "Huh?"

He looked up to find three men staring down at him from the saddles of enormous white… creatures. Each of the creatures was the size of a horse, and then some, and looked like what might be the result if you crossed a white tiger with a buffalo and then tossed in a scorpion to make things more interesting. They had antlers, chameleon eyes and a pincer tail. Their feet ended in long, thin toes that balanced them delicately over the ground, leaving the crystal grass unharmed. The men riding them were wrapped in colourful robes, their skin a deep brown and their eyes as blue as the empty sky overhead.

Rodney slowly raised his right hand and pointed back over his shoulder. "I'll just, uh, crawl back on through, then."

The men said nothing. They looked peaceful enough and didn't carry any obvious weapons, but he wasn't about to turn his back on them. He crawled into the narrow space between the standing stones, backwards, keeping an eye on them as he went. The space was just as empty as it had been before, no matter how carefully Rodney examined it. He crouched and peered back outside. The light was still bright.

Rodney scowled, crawled through the tiny opening, nodded politely at the men, turned around, and crawled back inside, this time facing the right way around. He ran his fingers over every bit of stone and earth he could reach. He thought, _off._ He waited. He thought, _on._ Nothing happened. After five minutes, he gave up.

"Look," he told the men, climbing to his feet and dusting off his hands on his BDUs, "whatever's in there, it's obviously broken. So if you could just," he waved his hands, "take me to your leader so we can sort this out, that would… That would be great."

The men looked down at him. "You are not Lantean?" one of them asked.

"That… depends on your definition?"

The man nodded as if that made perfect sense. "We are the Sólyom," he said, waving the hand that wasn't holding the creature's reins. "And these," he gestured at his creature, "are the kyrin. Come, stranger. We must bring you to Calneh."

"Who is–" Rodney began, but the men had already turned their kyrin around, leaving him to either follow them or watch them leave.

He followed them, the smell of rotting mint all around him as he crunched the crystal grass beneath his boots.

~~~

 **Four: The Mythical City**

They had to let Rodney ride on one of the kyrin eventually, because walking through a shadeless crystal desert in high temperatures with no water would have anyone keel over sooner rather than later. For Rodney, sooner occurred about half an hour into his walk, which was about twenty minutes later than he would have expected.

 _I'm getting better at these things,_ he thought dazedly. Crystal crumbles stuck to his cheek, itching like hell as he tried to convince shaky limbs to support his weight. _Ronon would be so proud._

The men eyed him, but then they gave him water and heaved him onto one of the high-backed saddles to ride in front of the man who'd asked if he was Lantean, and while Rodney's skin was still slowly turning a fetching lobster-red, at least the kyrin didn't smell too bad. Sadly, the same couldn't be said for Rodney, who stank of broken crystal grass and was never going to drink mint tea again _in his life._

"So Calneh is your leader?" he asked when the men's silence started getting to him. He was from another world! Weren't they at all curious about him?

"Calneh is not a who," the man behind him said, and for a moment, Rodney had the weird mental image of the Grinch trying to steal a blue, thorny Christmas tree. "It is a what."

"Okay, then _what_ is –" Rodney began, except then they crested the last hill and his answer lay before him, old and beautiful, a desert snowflake with spires reaching into the sky like the towers of an ancient temple. The city could have been Atlantis's twin, but where Atlantis was an artwork of steel and colour, Calneh had been built from yellowish brick and clay, with small glassless openings taking the place of big picture windows.

"The home of the Sólyom," the man behind him said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Calneh the Ageless, the shepherd's bride, who will welcome him upon his return from the hills of Fenghuang."

Rodney could only stare as they rode down the slope toward what would have been the Southwest Pier in Atlantis and here was a high brick structure with a set of wide, blue wooden doors. People were milling about, tending to kyrin and doing crystal desert things Rodney couldn't even begin to guess at. The men who had found him helped him off the kyrin and led him inside through cool, dimly lit halls, up flights of stairs that had been tread smooth by generations of feet and down half-familiar corridors. Their route didn't lead them to the central spire but to a smaller construction close to what would have been the West Pier, on a proper ocean.

A man stood at one of the small windows overlooking the hills below, his hands folded at his back. He wore a dark-red robe and had curly black-and-silver hair that fell to his shoulders. His face was bearded and dark, but not unkind when he turned to Rodney. He tilted his head and looked Rodney up and down, taking in his boots, his BDUs and t-shirt with an unreadable expression.

"It has been a long time since someone came for a Potentia," he said. "I am Nimrod, Turul of the Sólyom. Welcome to Calneh."

~~~

 **Five: The Zero-Point-Mystery is Unravelled**

"You built the Tower of Babel," Rodney blurted. That explained so much! Of course the Tower of Babel had been an Ancient project; it carried just the right amount of arrogance.

"Is that what they say?" Nimrod asked with a faint smile. He nodded at the men, and they left without a word. "Alas, I'm afraid I did not. Babel was no longer my city when Etemenanki was raised."

But Rodney was barely listening to him. "This is a time-dilation field," he said, because it had to be. Nimrod looked barely over sixty, if that, and not at all like someone who'd been around only a few hundred years after the Deluge. Time had to pass a lot slower inside the field than out. Even if Rodney had returned at that very moment, every member of the Atlantis expedition would long be dead, and the lack of any rescue party coming through within seconds proved that their way in had become as inexistent as Rodney's way out. Oh, that was bad. That was very, very bad.

"So it is." Nimrod looked pleased. "Did you infer that just now? I haven't talked to someone who possesses knowledge about such things in a very long time. Not since Janus came to collect the final Potentia."

Rodney's heart sank. "The final Potentia?" he asked. "So there aren't any left?"

Nimrod gave him a long look. "There are currently 17 Potentiae on this world," he said. At Rodney's sharp intake of breath, he added, "But I cannot give you any of them."

"We only need three," Rodney said quickly. Nimrod looked at him flatly, so Rodney hurried to add, "Please?"

Nimrod shook his head.

"At least tell me how they are made." Rodney waved his hands. "If I understand the underlying principle, I can –"

"You cannot replicate the conditions," Nimrod said, "and you will not be able to create a Potentia with tools and crystal. They are born, not made."

Rodney blinked. "What?"

So Nimrod told him. About the eagle-like heliornis, half-ascended siblings of the sun, who had filled the skies of Fenghuang in giant flocks before the Ancients had come and hunted them down. About the crystals in their heads which, if properly treated, held enough power to take a dying race back to the stars and return it to glory. About the blood that had dyed the crystal plains redder than the setting sun, feathers carried away by the wind in great clouds as the dead birds were discarded. And about the decision to protect them from all of that, to shut out the world and condemn the Ancients to insignificance, there and gone in the space of a breath.

"Bird brains?" Rodney asked, dazed. He was suddenly very glad that he'd left all his powerbars with Stackhouse; when he thought about how often he'd reverently run his hands over a ZPM, he had to struggle not to throw up.

"Do you still wish to take three Potentiae, now that you know what they are?" Nimrod asked.

Rodney thought about it, but not for long.

"No," he said. Years ago, he might have had no problem with killing a bunch of birds, half-ascended or not, but he'd changed. Pegasus had changed him. "No, I don't."

Huh. Score one for personal growth.

~~~

 **Six: Rodney McKay Negotiates**

"I have to go home," Rodney said, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Nimrod. The Ancient had his arms folded inside his sleeves, the very picture of serenity.

"I'm afraid that is out of the question," he said. "The secrets of Fenghuang must be kept. Besides, everyone you knew died a long time ago."

"Oh, don't even start with me!" Rodney snapped his fingers at the window. "A time-dilation field is by definition a distortion of the linear progression of time. If it is possible to slow it down or accelerate it at will by mechanical means, it has to be possible to reverse the flow entirely." He scowled. "Alternatively, I'm perfectly willing to use your undoubtedly vast array of sensors to wait for a suitable solar flare and use the Stargate to get back."

"There are many sensors to alert us to outside aggressors," Nimrod allowed, and Rodney perked up. If the Sólyom were to prevent any attack from, say, the Wraith, they had to be able to react fast enough to deal with a threat. That meant they had to deactivate the time-dilation field the moment the sensors registered something, and _that_ meant that the set-up was automated, possibly even remote-controlled. If the Daedalus had come to look for him…

"That's why your men were at the formation," he said, all the little chips of information falling into place to create a perfect circuit board. He snapped his fingers again, but more slowly this time, emphasising that beautiful moment of discovery. "Your sensors picked up a spaceship. The field is already off-line. Hah!" He grinned. Of course they had come looking for him. As if his team would allow anything else.

"Very good." Nimrod tilted his head again, smiling, and Rodney felt his own grin fade a little. "We are indeed currently in harmonic alignment with the outside world. However, this does not mean Fenghuang is open to visitors, or to those who wish to leave."

Rodney raised his chin. "I'll find a way."

"You cannot."

"Watch me," Rodney snapped. He turned on his heel and stalked over to the doorway, briefly wishing for a door he could slam as he stepped through. The best early-warning system was useless without the option to react. There was a way to leave Fenghuang, and he'd find it, and if he had to take down that damn rock formation to do it, then he would.

"You have no water," Nimrod called after him, "no food. No protection. The heliornis will scatter your bones across a dozen hills."

"And whose fault will that be?" For a comeback, that was admittedly pretty lame, but Rodney had had it with this planet. If he couldn't have a ZPM – and he was so going to make Zelenka touch the stupid thing from now on – he would at least go home or die trying.

For a brief moment, he had a flashback to Mr. Reinhart and his misguided attempts to make Rodney join the Scouts Canada, convinced that Rodney's irrational fear of camping would disappear if only he went on enough hikes. Well. There probably weren't any bears on Fenghuang.

Behind him, Nimrod let out a long-suffering sigh. Rodney grinned. Ah, the sweet sound of victory. He heard it all the time.

~~~

 **Seven: A ZPM is Very Nearly Obtained**

They gave him a kyrin, water, and even something that looked like a combination of flatbread and trail mix. The sun had crossed its zenith and was on a steady downward arc, but Rodney would be damned if he spent any more time with these people than he had to. Calneh wasn't all that far from the rock formation; he'd make it there with sunlight to spare.

"You must let him drink regularly," someone said, and another voice chimed in with, "if you run out of water, pull the thorns from the trees." Rodney nodded, and suddenly the Sólyom were crowded around him, as if they'd just been waiting for someone to talk to. "Stay away from the pollen sacks," the said, "they explode," and, "Do not spit on the ground." Rodney wondered what would happen if he spat on the ground – would the crystal grass explode? – but then he decided he didn't want to know.

"Yes, yes, fine," he said finally, "that's all great to know, thank you for educating me, et cetera. I'm kind of on a schedule, here?"

The Sólyom looked at each other, then a woman stepped forward to pet the kyrin's shaggy fur just behind the elaborate saddle. "Yes, of course, you must leave," she said, slapped the kyrin's behind, and the creature loped into movement.

They made their way across the hills at a pretty impressive speed, although the kyrin was doing little more than walk at what it seemed to consider a comfortable pace. Rodney wasn't sure that a kyrin _could_ run, balancing on its toes as it did. That was fine with him, though; he was grateful enough that the saddle was built more like a chair so there was little danger of him falling off. He could even hold the reins with one hand and check his scanner with the other to make sure they were still moving in the right direction.

At every oasis, the kyrin stopped to drink from the chalice plants, which turned out to hold an oil-like substance they had to drag up through their roots. Rodney had plenty of water, but he still broke off one of the blue thorns to see if there really was water inside. There was; most of it spilled onto the ground when Rodney wasn't quick enough to turn it the right way up. After a moment of hesitation, he took a sip of the dregs. They tasted fresh and sweet.

The heliornis didn't make a sound; it just dropped out of the sky like it had beamed there, a bird the size of a small car. Rodney let out a manly yelp of surprise and ducked just in time to avoid a pair of claws raking past his face. The bird let out a piercing shriek and banked, small flames licking at is feathers as it came back at Rodney and opened its beak. The kyrin calmly raised his head and, with a rushing sound, spit a flame so hot it seemed almost white.

Smoke rising from blackened feathers, the heliornis tumbled out of the sky. The kyrin made as if to send another blast of fire at it, but Rodney pulled sharply at the reins.

"No," he said, "leave it."

A moment later, the bird shimmered out of existence.

~~~

 **Eight: Parting Ways and Parting Gifts**

The chalice plants had caught on fire and were burning merrily, seedling pods popping and cracking, spilling their contents on the dry ground. Something that had looked like another part of the plant slithered off in the direction of the trees with a hissing screech, smouldering as it went. Rodney stared after it for a moment, then he shook himself and gave the kyrin a small nudge. The creature obediently started forward again.

The heliornis had left a black smudge on the ground. Rodney wondered if a half-ascended creature could be seriously hurt by an attack that was purely physical. Probably not. Then he remembered that the bird had essentially carried a ZPM in its head and stiffened with belated alarm.

"Are you _crazy_?" he yelled at his kyrin. "If one of those things explodes, it would break right through the crust! The whole planet would go up!"

The kyrin merely kept walking, digging its thin toes into the dirt next to clumps of crystal grass. After a moment, Rodney's racing heart calmed down enough for his hands to stop shaking. He pulled out his scanner for the thirtieth time and adjusted the screen. "Almost there now."

The rock formation looked exactly as it had earlier that day, small and utterly insignificant. Rodney dismounted the kyrin in a less than elegant manner and left it standing outside as he crawled through the tiny opening and back into the narrow space between the stones. He ran his fingers over the stones, knocked on them, searched for strange protrusions or hollow spaces. There had to be a mechanism _somewhere,_ he was sure of it, and he wasn't going to leave before he found it. The inside of the formation delivered no clues, so he repeated the procedure outside, even going so far as to climb on top of the structure to scan every inch of it for the faintest energy signature. Back on the ground, he concentrated on the earth around the stones, stopping every now and then for a drink of water.

He had to admit that the mechanism was exceptionally well-hidden. Damn the Ancients for making everything so needlessly complicated.

"Where's a TARDIS when you need one?" he muttered.

"You are not so tardy yet," a voice said behind him. Rodney spun around, heart in his throat. Nimrod stood next to the kyrin, holding a blue wooden box in his hands. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. "I surprised you."

"You're ascended!" Rodney accused him.

"I never claimed otherwise," Nimrod said. He held out the box. "Before you leave, a gift for you."

Rodney made no move to take it. "Will it explode?"

"Only if you handle it unwisely." Nimrod smiled. "Inside this case lie three eggs, each almost as powerful as a Potentia, if in a different way. I am entrusting these to you. Perhaps your city can thrive without more bloodshed."

Rodney stared at him, open-mouthed. "But… what if they hatch?" he asked, his voice pitched just a little too high.

"They will not hatch for another 45,000 years," Nimrod said, "although I advise you to keep away when they do. Heliornis are born in fire." He wiggled the box. "Now take them, and I will send you home."

Rodney took the box. "Why?"

~~~

 **Nine: Some Things Remain a Mystery**

Reality lurched around him, and a heartbeat later, Rodney found himself standing in an open forest of vaguely familiar trees, with the rock formation at his back and a blinking Radek Zelenka in front of him. Several of his minions stood staring at him, holding a variety of tools and scanners, while the marines guarding them seemed to take Rodney's sudden appearance in stride.

"Hey, Doc!" Tiwani called, grinning. "Brought a souvenir from your trip?"

"Oh, come _on,_ " Rodney exploded at the empty air, "you owe me an explanation!"

Predictably, nobody answered, although Radek's expression got a little more pinched. "Rodney," he said carefully, "can you tell us where you've –"

"Nobody enters that crawlspace," Rodney snapped, jerking the box in the direction of the standing stones, and then, of course, Sheppard showed up. From inside the rock formation.

"McKay," he said, somehow managing to look both pissed and relieved as he rose to his feet, "where the fuck have you been?"

And that was Rodney's welcome committee. The Daedalus beamed them all up and Caldwell put Rodney into semi-solitary confinement in the ship's quarantine bay until they could figure out if Rodney had been compromised. Apparently, he'd been missing for over a month.

"Hello, do I have to spell it out in alphabet blocks?" Rodney said when they wouldn't even let him have a laptop. "'Time-dilation field'. Which part of the concept is so difficult to grasp?" _For you of all people,_ he wanted to add, but didn't.

"Oh, I don't know," John said, slouching against the tiny observation window, "maybe the one where nobody could find a trace of it?"

"If you would just check my scanner for the elapsed time –"

"Right, because Rodney McKay couldn't possibly reprogram a scanner."

And so it went, all the way back to Atlantis. He spent hours in the infirmary while Jennifer checked him for parasites and nanites and alien mind-control implants. She also gave him aloe for his sunburn, which Rodney considered a fair enough trade. The debriefing didn't go quite as well, especially when he tried to explain to Woolsey and Caldwell that the blue box contained, "Well… I suppose they're phoenix eggs."

They sent him back to the infirmary to check for sunstroke.

Eventually, tired enough that he was starting to fantasise about crawling under the briefing room table and just sleeping there, Rodney managed to convince everyone that no, he wasn't delusional, and no, he didn't advise another expedition to Fenghuang, and yes, he would look into the practical applications of the eggs the following morning. Or noon. Afternoon, latest. The debriefing wrapped up quickly after that.

"Good to have you back, buddy," Ronon said, and Teyla smiled at Rodney and handed him Torren and told him that she was expecting him to resume his babysitting duties the next Sunday. Radek took the box containing the eggs as if it might explode in his hands; Rodney was half-tempted to tell him not to spit on it.

John just scratched the back of his head.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, and there was something in his voice that didn't sound quite right. Rodney was too tired to puzzle it out, though.

"Right," he said, "tomorrow," and was asleep before he realised he'd hit the mattress.

~~~

 **Ten: Rodney McKay Gets His Guy**

He woke up some hours later. The room was dark and cool, and he didn't know at first what had woken him, but then John's arm slipped around his waist from behind and he realised that he wasn't alone.

"Go back to sleep," John whispered, so Rodney closed his eyes again. It seemed like the thing to do. They lay like that for a while, their clothed bodies pressed together, John's breath almost agonisingly hot on Rodney's sunburnt neck. Then, tentatively, Rodney put his hand on John's arm and squeezed lightly. John let out a low sigh.

"You were gone," he said, and his voice sounded all wrong again. "Not a trace, just… gone. I didn't even know where to look."

Rodney wondered what it must have been like for John, to lose a member of his team like that. If it had been different from losing Teyla. "Time-dilation field," he murmured. John laughed shakily.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

Rodney frowned. He didn't think John had gotten it. Then again, Rodney could hardly be expected to be coherent after a month-long day.

"I didn't miss you," he tried again, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say almost before John stiffened behind him.

"Right," John said, starting to pull away, "I'll just –"

"No," Rodney blurted and tightened his grip on John's arm. "That's not what I meant. I meant that there wasn't time to miss you, but even if there had been, I wouldn't have, because you're… you. Leave no man behind. Never give up, never surrender, all that stuff. And, well, I'm me. One of us would have figured it out. It's… like with the kidding. Only, it's a trust thing," he finished lamely, wishing for a desk so he could bang his head against it. It would be a miracle if John had understood that. _Rodney_ hadn't understood that.

John was silent for a long moment. Then he pulled Rodney close and rested his forehead between Rodney's shoulder blades. "Yeah," he said, his voice strangely thick. "Yeah, I… me, too."

"Okay," Rodney said dazedly. There was a strong possibility that they had just exchanged declarations of love. He didn't quite know what to do with that, but the light-headed feeling that came along with it felt rather nice.

"Go back to sleep, Rodney," John said, and this time, he sounded like he might be smiling.

Rodney went back to sleep.

His new morning routine went something like this: fumble for the snooze button before the annoying beep of the alarm drove him to murder or insanity or both; think about strangling John for ever sitting down in that goddamn Chair and forcing Rodney into a life of adventure and early rising; give John a morning blowjob instead; make his way into and out of the bathroom, where he'd invariably stub his toe on one of the weird protrusions from the walls and floor; stumble to the mess hall for coffee, coffee, coffee and breakfast with whatever member of his team he found; see whatever mentions of 'space gun' his very specialised search engine had coaxed out of the Ancient database overnight.

Rodney was still not a fan of getting up before noon. But there were worse things, he found, than getting up with John.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 SGAReversebang to a picture-prompt by bmouse.


End file.
